In my last post, I mentioned how my crazy little Gator Girl was sick. Well, it didn't go away. It stuck around all weekend long so my weekend was spent making rice and boiling chicken and getting out of bed every two hours during the night to take her outside so I didn't have to spend my days scrubbing my rugs. So this morning I called the Best Vet In The World and left a message on his voicemail begging him to see and cure my dog because obviously, something unusual was happening here.
He called me back about an hour later and I explained all the no fun we'd been having. He told me to bring her in and, if possible, bring along a stool sample. This made me laugh. My dog had done little else other than produce stool samples the whole damn weekend long so of course I could bring a stool sample. Hope you like orange.
So I sent the Gator Girl outside and stood at the ready with my sacrificial tupperware container. She ran, she frolicked, she played, she jumped on me. But she did not go to the bathroom. I kept her out there until it was time to leave and still she did not go to the bathroom.
Who knew it would be so damn hard to get a stool sample from a dog with the frakking runs.
When I ran out of time, I put the Gator Girl in the car and went back to the house to give Big some cookies before I left. Big has been living cookie free since the Gator Girl got sick. It's just easier that way. Of course, it probably leads to Big planning to run away to his Mimi's house where the cookies run free. So I thought a Kong full of cookies would soften the blow of having to stay home.
I got up to the screen door and pulled on the handle. Nothing happened. Again and again I tried to open the door and still, nothing happened. The door would not open. On the other side of the door, prancing and whining was my Big Brave German Shepherd who had somehow managed to do the next-to-impossible.
He had locked me out of the house.
I called The Man.
Me: Big locked me out.
Him: Big did what?
Me: Locked me out.
Him: Of what?
Me: The house.
Me: I took the Gator Girl outside to put her in the car and Big was apparently upset that he wasn't going to the vet so he jumped up on the door and hit it just right and locked the damn thing so now I can't get back in the house.
Me: And now I need to leave.
Him: You need my keys?
Me: No, I need to leave to get to the vet but I can't close the front door. I really think I should close the front door before I leave.
Him: (pause) So you need me to come home?
Me: Yes, please.
Fortunately, The Man's office is just slightly over a half mile away so it didn't take him long to arrive. As he got out of the car, he played with his keyring to find the house key. It was then I realized The Man hadn't heard a damn word I had said. When he got to the door, he looked confused as the front door was obviously opened.
Him: You got it open?
Me: Big locked the screen door. Not the front door.
The Man then tried to open the screen door. It still did not open.
Him: How'd he lock the door? I can't even lock that door.
Me: I don't know. He should probably go and buy a lottery ticket after we get back inside.
Him: I thought you needed my keys.
Me: Not so much, no.
Him: How are we going to get in?
Me: Considering every other entrance to the house is closed and locked, I'm guessing we're going to have to sacrifice the screen.
Me: And since I'm late for a very vital vet appointment, when I say 'we', I mean 'you.' Have fun!
So while The Man was trying to break in to our own house, I took the Gator Girl to the vet where I was met by looks of utter disbelief by both the vet and the vet tech when I said I did not have a stool sample to offer. We still came away with a diagnosis (speculative in the absence of a stool sample to confirm) of 'Clostridia Perfringens.' It also came with a seven day allotment of antibiotics with some super fun side effects.
Him: It can cause disorientation.
Me: (glancing at my dog running in small crazy circles in the examination room) Not sure I'd notice.
Him: Also if those meds are mixed with alcohol, it causes projectile vomiting.
Me: Gee, I wonder what it would be like to have a projectile vomiting dog.
Him: It'll cause more projectile vomiting.
Me: (glance at Gator Girl) Did you hear that? No beer for you for a week.
We went home after that. It's an hour drive that ended with the Gator Girl finally getting around to giving me that stool sample. All over the backseat of my car.
I love my pets.